The Morning After
by Kiheada.Ray.T
Summary: It's been two years and John keeps having weird dreams about Sherlock still being alive.


**The Morning After**

**Disclaimer: Mark Gatiss created this beautiful crack pairing, not I. Sherlock belongs to him and Steven Moffat.**

**Warning: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE: If you have not seen episode one yet and would like to keep away from spoilers, **_**read no further**_**. You've already seen enough already, turn back now while there's still time! Homo. Implied sex. Crack pairing. Confused and befuddled Doctor John Watson.**

_I can't believe I'm actually writing this. I promised myself not to write any new fanfiction, but after watching "The Empty Hearse" I couldn't help myself, so I apologize for not working on any of my current or upcoming works right now. This is dedicated to my wifeys, Petra Jade and Brookiekins, who will probably stone me for this. But they'll also secretly love it ;)_

_This entire one-shot (because there will NOT be a continuance, or so help me) is based on a particular scene from "The Empty Hearse" and can easily be guessed which. Hint: it's from one of the theories. Okay, deduce away~_

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John woke up worried. Had Sherlock come home last night? All the doctor could remember was the curly-haired sociopath grabbing his jacket and dashing off late in the evening. Something about a previous case he "need not concern himself with" apparently. Sighing, he told himself that Sherlock was an adult who could take care of himself. Even though Ms. Hudson took care of them both like a mother, reminding them she wasn't their housekeeper, they need to make their own way in the world. At least, that's what he kept repeating in his head during his morning routine. It was Sherlock, what was the worst that could happen?

As he trudged out into the hall he noticed Sherlock's door was slightly ajar. Curious, John moved closer and peered through the crack, seeing a body beneath the covers on the bed, curly hair peeking out. A small smile tugged at his lips. Opening the door further, he spoke quietly, "Oh you're back, are you-"

It was then he noticed _another_ body lying beside the detective who mumbled something incoherently in his sleep. Raising his eyebrows, he carefully began backing out when he saw the face of the other man, turned toward him with an arm outstretched over his head as he sighed.

John gulped, unable to find his voice for a moment. It rasped out of him in a hoarse whisper, "Sherlock, there's...it's...Sherlock get up."

The detective flicked his wrist dismissively and Jim Moriarty curled on his side, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's middle. John's eyes were wide, unblinking, and his jaw remained unhinged for a while as he stood frozen. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, nor did he want to. Finally regaining his motor movements, he walked into the living room and sat in his chair. He stared blankly ahead of him for a long time, attempting to understand what was happening.

Moriarty was the enemy. Bad guy. Easy enough to fathom. Sherlock, while not the common hero, was decidedly a good guy. Also not so hard to follow. The tricky part was figuring out why in the hell they would be sleeping together. Not too long ago Moriarty was threatening to kill them, and sent multiple killers and distractions their way to get Sherlock's attention. Was it…oh god. John did _not_ want to think of all of that just as a precursor to a relationship between the two. Admittedly…no. Nope. Not going there. Definitely not.

In order to cleanse his mind from the earlier scene he picked up the newspaper. Murder, mayhem, politics. This he could handle. He could wrap his mind around scandals involving a threesome with the secretary and janitor of a prominent businessman. Simple really, predictable. What took place in his flat mate's bedroom last night on the other hand? Not. A. Clue.

After an hour or so he hears movement and freezes again, eyes stuck on the last line he was actively reading. From his peripheral vision he saw Sherlock's blue robe flicker by. Turning his head slightly, he watched as the detective went into the kitchen…to brew tea. He was flanked by Moriarty, wearing a t-shirt and sweats. John stared as the previous enemy placed a hand lightly on Sherlock's lower back, leaning in close. Sherlock turned to him with a small smile and they mumbled to each other, a conversation John's ears blocked in order to save his mind from exploding.

Dishes clinked together and the stove-top was turned on. Now they were making _breakfast_? Moriarty and Sherlock? _Really_?

John continued to watch, unable to look away even though he had no business and no desire to know what he was actually seeing. It took him a moment to realize he needed to say something. Clearing his throat a few times, he waited until Moriarty left the living room for a moment to eventually ask, "So…uh…mind explaining this one Sherlock?"

The detective looked over, with the nerve to give John a bewildered glance. "Explain what?" he said, sipping some tea and coming over to sit in the chair opposite the doctor.

John gave himself a moment, looking at Sherlock with a stern expression. He glanced to the room where Moriarty just went. "_That_."

"None of your business."

John raised his eyebrows again. "Oh. Okay." He replied, looking back down at his newspaper. Two seconds later he was glaring up at his friend. "Because every time I happen to have a date you _conveniently_ show up to ruin it or stop me from even going, yet you leave in the middle of the night to meet _Moriarty_ and then _take him home_? Honestly Sherlock, I didn't even think you knew what sex _was_, even when Irene Adler was flirting with you completely naked! So you expect me to ignore the fact that you're sleeping with the man who, not too long ago, tried to _kill us_ after tormenting us for _weeks_?" he exclaimed.

"Pretty much." Sherlock answered, staring right back at him.

John measured his expression, mind once again reeling from the shock. On one hand, this was almost expected. In another circumstance, he could understand Sherlock's need for privacy. But with Moriarty?

"Wooooow. Someone sounds grumpy this morning." Moriarty announced, also holding a cup of tea as he stood from leaning against the door frame.

"Told you." Sherlock muttered.

"Oh but it's _so_ worth it." Moriarty sneered and came around to sit on the armrest of the chair. Consulting detective and criminal playing domestic. There you have it.

John looked from one to the other. Sherlock snagged the newspaper from him without realizing during his confusion and was reading it. Moriarty slurped from his cup and eyed John, occasionally glancing down at the paper. The two made comments to each other John couldn't catch over the internal screaming going on inside his head.

"So…this is it then. You and him. After all that." The doctor asked after a long silence.

"Yeeeeup." Sherlock said with a smack of his lips.

"Unbelievable." John huffed and stood, grabbing his coat and wallet.

The two men watched him. "Where are you going?" one called out.

"Out for some fresh air!" he called back, passing Ms. Hudson on the way down the hall. He whirled around and reached for her arm. "For the love of god do not go up there."

"Why not?" she asked, concerned about his growing expression of anger and disgust.

"Just trust me." he breathed and walked out of the door.

She quirked her head to the side, then shrugged and continued on her way. "What did you say to him to make him so…flustered?" she asked as she took the stairs.

"Nothing, we were just having breakfast." Sherlock replied without looking up from the paper. Moriarty moved to sit in his lap during John's exit and was half curled in the seat.

"Oh hello Jim, good to see you around." She replied cheerily.

Moriarty smiled. "Mooorning Ms. Hudson."

As she absently began straightening a few items strewn about the flat she said "There was a note for you downstairs, I just came to bring it up."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied as she handed it to him.

"Remember, I'm _not_ your housekeeper. I just noticed it when I picked up my own mail, so don't go thinking I'll bring it up every time." She told them.

"What would he do without you, Ms. Hudson?" Moriarty looked up at her with a grin. She smiled back down at him, patted his head, and went back downstairs.

When she was out of sight Sherlock looked down at the man in his lap, who looked up at him in turn. They leaned closer to each other, eyes lowering, until their lips nearly touched—

John bolted upright in his bed, gasping and shaking. Mary stirred beside him. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the newly formed moustache over his lip.

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**Author's Note: Short because I don't need to spend any more time with this pairing. Seriously, don't tempt me. Why the hell is this so appealing? DAMN YOU GATISS! Anyway, here's a fanfiction based off of the fanfiction that is "The Empty Hearse" and that one particular scene on the rooftop. Seriously Gatiss, if you **_**do**_** read fanfiction you should consider doing this one just to mess with people more. Of course, there's plenty of other material I'm sure. This will probably be my first and last Sherlock fic, because the idea woke me up and wouldn't leave me alone, so review if you want but don't expect more. Plus I needed to traumatize my wifeys~**


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